


The Scarf

by Guanin



Series: Antipodal Shadows [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 06:19:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2611541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guanin/pseuds/Guanin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oswald surprises Jim with a birthday present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

On his birthday, Jim received two morning surprises. One was a very enthusiastic happy birthday from Barbara, which made him late for work. The other was waiting for him at said work. Sitting on his desk was a rectangular gift box, about a foot long, thin, and matte, navy blue, wrapped in a silver ribbon, a simple bow curled on the top, right corner. A small card was folded under it. Jim picked it up, frowning at the contents, which were written in an elegant, flowing script.

_Happy Birthday! I hope this helps keep you warm now that the days are getting chillier._

_Oswald_

What the hell? Jim opened the box and discovered a black, cashmere scarf, made of the softest wool Jim had ever felt, much more expensive than anything Jim could afford. 

“Nice scarf,” Alvarez said, passing by Jim’s desk with his cup of morning coffee. “Did Barbara give it to you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jim said, stuffing the card in his pants pocket.

“Your girl has good taste. By the way, happy birthday.”

“Thanks.”

His “girl” did have good taste. He had also stepped way over the line and was about to get an earful about it as soon as Jim ducked out of the precinct and back onto the street so that no one could overhear him. Except that Oswald wasn’t picking up the phone. Of course not.

 _Answer the phone_ , he texted, walking back into the station. About half a minute later, he got a reply.

_I’m afraid I can’t. I’m at work_

_Find time_

_Did you not like my gift?_

_You shouldn’t have given it to me_

_Is that a no?_

Why was everything always so difficult with this man?

_I like it. It was very thoughtful but we don’t have that kind of relationship_

He slumped into his desk chair, running his left hand over his face while he counted to ten. The scarf was still there when he raised his head, nestled in its box, looking as innocent as apple pie. He reached out, but stopped himself at the last second before touching it. If he did, he might be tempted to keep it. The scarf was nice, too nice of a present. There should be no present at all. A present meant that he was saying yes to Oswald in a way that he hadn’t before. It meant a further level of obligation, of acceptance. Of recrimination if he went down this road with a man who aspired to be the next Don Falcone.

His phone buzzed again.

_I’m sorry, Jim. I thought you knew that I consider us friends._

Friends? They were work colleagues at the very best, and that was stretching the meaning of the word. What could he reply to that? “We’re not friends” was too blunt, especially in a text. “I don’t see us that way” sounded like something completely different. 

_You don’t have to keep the scarf if you don’t want to_ , Oswald texted. _I just thought you would enjoy it._

Oh, Jesus.

“Hey, Jim,” he heard Harvey say behind him. He turned around just as Harvey slapped a hand on his shoulder before crossing over to his desk. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks."

"Terrible that you have to spend it here. Is that a gift from Barbara? Looks pricey."

"Yeah." 

Great, now two people thought that Barbara had given him that scarf. That very practical, comfortable, wool scarf that was perfect for the cold weather. People might wonder why he never wore it, especially when it started to snow. Or not. No one cared what he wore. 

He put the lid back on the box and stuffed it into a desk drawer.

His phone buzzed.

_Jim?_

After a moment of staring at the screen, Jim typed, _I can't keep it_ , then stopped himself right before hitting Send. Deleting it, he sent instead: _I'll get back to you later_.

"That looked intense,” Harvey said after a moment. "Should I ask?"

"Not really. It will sort itself out."

It did. In completely the wrong way. 

Later that morning, they were called out on a shooting in a liquor store. Upon reaching the door of the station on the way to their car, they discovered that the cold front that the weather forecast had threatened that morning had come in, for it felt at least 10 degrees colder and the wind was whipping street litter around. 

“Feels like it’s going to snow,” Jim said, yanking the lapels of his coat as high up as they would go.

“You should have brought that scarf your girl gave you,” Harvey said as he tucked his own scarf around his neck.

_I hope this helps keep you warm now that the days are getting chillier_

“Yeah, I guess. I’ll grab it later.”

During his lunch hour, Jim texted Oswald:

_I can’t keep it_

The reply came instantly.

_Why not?_

_Because it will tie me more to you and it’s unnerving_ , Jim thought, but no, he couldn’t write that. 

_People might think it’s a bribe_

_I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but they probably already think you’re on the take._

The fact that this was true rankled at him, especially since, while he was not receiving any money, he was still technically under Falcone’s thumb. He hadn’t been forced to do anything for him yet (had Oswald had any hand in that, he wondered), but if called to, he probably wouldn’t have any choice. Not when refusing might get someone he cared about killed.

 _That doesn’t mean I want to promote the assumption_ , he texted.

_They don’t have to know it’s from me._

Considering that at least two people already thought it came from Barbara, brushing off this excuse sounded especially weak. He put the phone down on the diner table he was eating at, stared at it, then put it in his pocket to finish his sandwich.

Should he keep the scarf? It was already in his desk, people had linked him to it, and, if he returned it to Oswald, the man would probably feel slighted, and he was the only reason why Jim and Harvey were alive right now. How much leeway did Oswald liking him give Jim? Did it mean that he was trapped into accepting whatever Oswald threw his way? Because that was not going to happen. If he wanted them to be friends, he better intend that word with its proper definition and not as a way to beguile Jim to get what he wanted. 

His phone rang as he got up to return to the station. Now Oswald was calling him. Finally. 

“Hello?” he answered, squeezing the phone between his right shoulder and his cheek as he put on his coat. 

“Hello,” Oswald said, sounding uncertain. “I am so sorry about this. I didn’t really think anything about getting you something for your birthday, but I guess we haven’t known each other that long. Really, please don’t feel any obligation to keep it if you don’t want to. I understand. I just thought it would be nice with the weather and all.”

Jim should feel like crap for making someone apologize like this for giving him a nice present. He would if it weren’t for the person giving him said present. Actually, he did a little, because Oswald sounded so damned sincere. 

He pulled up his lapels again as he left the diner and into the blustery sidewalk. It would actually be nice to have the scarf on now.

“Oswald, it’s a really nice gesture. Really, I appreciate it, I do. I just wasn’t expecting it. I don’t even know when your birthday is. We mostly communicate by text message about work.” 

“Right. I understand. I just… It would be nice if we didn’t just talk about work.”

Jim’s feet slowed on the sidewalk. 

“Because you want us to be friends,” he said. 

“Well. Yes. I don’t mean to sound like I’m propositioning you. I guess friends are supposed to just happen, but since we’re talking about it, yes, I’d like that. It is hard to find somebody whose company I enjoy.”

“And whom you can trust?” Jim asked, remembering their earlier conversation.

“You can’t have friends you can’t trust."

But could Jim trust Oswald? As he stood at the last intersection before the station, waiting for the light to change at the crosswalk, he summed up all the pros and cons in his head and came up empty. 

Fuck it. He was damned, anyway. 

“Alright, I’ll keep the scarf.”

“Really? I’m so happy to hear that.”

“It is really nice. I should have just told you this morning, but thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, Jim. I thought it would be a good item for you."

"Yeah, um... I'm sure I'll be using it. I'll talk to you later."

"Talk to you later, Jim."

After arriving at the station, Jim opened the top drawer of his desk, took out the gift box, and stared at its contents for a full twenty seconds. _It’s just a scarf_ , he told himself. It wasn’t going to hurt him. The black dye wasn’t going to seep into his skin and mark him as a traitor to every principle he held dear. He was tarnished worse than this already simply by associating with Falcone. Then why did it feel like a yoke when he touched it? Why did the softness of the wool feel like the sweet comfort of taking the bribe and shutting up while the gangsters got their way? 

_The mob didn’t give you this scarf. Oswald did._

The Oswald who wanted to use him as a tool to move up in the criminal underworld. Also the Oswald who had saved his life. The Oswald who claimed to want to be his friend. Did he really want that? Or was he playing a long game? Or both? What did the word friend really mean to him? 

The scarf slipped easily around his neck. A long slip of fabric, nothing more. It didn’t have to mean anything more if he convinced himself that it didn’t. 

``````

He didn’t tell Barbara about the scarf.


	2. Chapter 2

Two weeks after the scarf incident, Jim was obliged to meet with Oswald face to face to acquire a piece of evidence that their current suspect had left at Maroni’s restaurant. Despite what had been said, neither of them had offered any overtures other than the norm. Oswald appeared to be leaving the ball in Jim’s court, probably because Jim had reacted so negatively to his gift, and Jim didn’t particularly want to pick up the ball and hit it. Although he had succumbed and started wearing the scarf, partly because it was going to get suspicious if he never wore it since it supposedly came from Barbara and Harvey noticed everything, which was great for detective work, but irritating as hell when it came to Jim’s personal life. Not that he had commented on the scarf’s absence. Jim was probably just being paranoid. However, it was so warm and comfortable that, well, how he acquired it began to fade in importance. 

He had the scarf on when they went to meet Oswald, telling himself that it wasn’t because he wanted him to see it. Harvey offered to let Jim go alone on account of his and Oswald’s last meeting being more than a little awkward, but they had no time for that, so Jim told him that Oswald would just have to get over it. Jim texted Oswald a meeting point. Harvey and he drove up, and Oswald got into the backseat. He might have looked a little put out when he saw Harvey driving. His eyes lit up with genuine greeting on looking at Jim, but soured a little when he turned to Harvey, although he did not lose his smile.

“Hello, Jim,” he said. “Detective Bullock. You look well.”

“Hey, Cobblepot,” Harvey said. “I hope you don’t have any hard feelings over what happened at the pier. It was just business.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly, detective. I could hardly say that I would have acted any differently. Jim here is simply a better person than both of us.”

“Oh, that’s right. He never lets me forget it. Isn't that right, Jimmy boy?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“If you guys mean,” Jim said, “that I actually possess a moral compass, yes I do. Now can we please get on to business?”

“Of course, Jim,” Oswald said, reaching into his inner, jacket pocket. “I have the paper I mentioned to you right here.” 

He handed Jim a wrinkled piece of white, notebook paper. It had been folded over into the smallest possible rectangle at one point, for it was covered in parallel creases. Running down the center of the page was a series of three letter combinations, none of which meant anything to Jim.

“Can you make sense of that?” he asked Harvey, handing the paper over to him. 

“Not a clue,” Harvey said. “If it’s some kind of encryption, we’re screwed.”

“I’m afraid I cannot help you with deciphering the contents,” Oswald said. “It is nothing I’m familiar with.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Jim said. “Having this is great. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, Jim.” Oswald smiled. “Anything you need, I’m here.”

“Thanks. So how have you been?"

"I've been very well, thank you. Life is good to me. How about you?"

"I've been alright. Nothing exciting except the cases, not that I need more excitement than that."

“That’s good.”

Oswald's eyes strayed down to Jim's neck, smile softening as he saw the scarf, eyes alight with something Jim suspected only he was allowed to see. Jim felt the urge to tug at the ends of the scarf, whether to pull it on more snugly or yank it off, he didn’t know, but it suddenly scractched at his throat, hot, sweaty, yet still so very soft, so akin to that look Oswald was giving him, to those lips he squeezed together as if hiding a big secret. 

“Well, gentlemen,” Oswald said. “I’ll leave you two to your deciphering. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Jim said. 

Oswald’s eyes lingered on Jim for a moment before he exited the car. 

Jim straightened back in his chair and looked at the paper, ignoring the sweat at the back of his neck as he forced himself back into work mode.

“We need to figure out what the hell this means,” he said, glancing up to see Oswald walking down the street, his umbrella up to ward off the beginning of a drizzle. 

“Yeah, that we do.”

Something about Harvey’s tone sounded off, like he was thinking about something else. Jim narrowed his eyes at him, but Harvey was already looking away at the road as he pulled off the curb and into the traffic. Oswald turned toward the car as they passed by, their gazes barely catching the others’.

Jim’s phone buzzed against his thigh.

_The scarf looks good on you._

Jim caught a glimpse of Oswald in his rearview mirror.

_Thanks. It’s very warm._

_I’m happy to hear it._

He closed his phone and slipped it into his pocket, trying to ignore the occasional glance Harvey tossed his way.


End file.
